


Oh Captain, My Captain

by laiquendi_ossiriandic



Series: The Captain and the Vicar [1]
Category: The Outer Worlds (Video Game)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Multi, Nonbinary Captain (The Outer Worlds), Other, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:48:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laiquendi_ossiriandic/pseuds/laiquendi_ossiriandic
Summary: WIP about a shameless self insert meeting the sexy and incorrigible holy man of Edgewater. Follows one of the games storylines mostly, may diverge as I write more.
Relationships: The Captain/Maximillian DeSoto
Series: The Captain and the Vicar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879672
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfic in like 10 years please be nice

At once clinically sharp and disgustingly humid, the recycled air inside the Unreliable often made you, her new captain, slightly nauseous. Not ideal after a night of heavy imbibing. You had agreed to meet Parvati the next morning to strike out for the geothermal lab, and once she had returned to her quarters inside the town’s protective walls, the weight of the decision before you became unbearable. So maybe, away from Parvati’s huge, concerned eyes and nervous quips about your drinking habits, you drank. A lot. 

You dragged one shaking limb in front of another, swaying up the stairs and through the threshold. The only personal touch you’d contributed to the captain’s quarters was a growing pile of salvage you’d been steadily compiling since claiming the Unreliable a few days prior; something about waking up 70 years late in the unfathomable depths of space and careening into the nearest corporate terraform made you anxious to conserve every weapon and change of clothes acquired. 

Swinging your legs over the small bed and settling into the linens, your thoughts immediately turned to the very topics you’d been drinking to suppress. Yesterday’s anxieties, pushed down by the considerable supply of algae lager leftover from the late Hawthorne. 

You found yourself wishing fruitlessly that this planet had been abandoned, barren, that by some miracle the power converter would come to you without having to play god to a colony divided against its own people. Weighing the options with Parvati had been frustrating; hearing her plead earnestly on behalf of her fellow factory workers actually twisted your stomach worse than the stale musty air of the spacecraft. She said people would die. You believed her. Not everyone could be saved. 

Another face appeared unprompted in your memory. The hazy glow of the OSI’s stained glass windows backlit the Vicar, and you held for a moment the red hue enveloping, subsuming the older man in its omnipresence. Seeking his advice was a whim to begin with, and his advice struck you as self serving at best. 

He, like Parvati, did not want to lose power. Unlike her, his interest did not extend to the other colonists. His distaste for this “backwater settlement” was more than evident, and it was difficult to imagine his temperament improving sans power. He would have to squint at the illegible French scribbles by the dull red glow of the power failure lights. The image brought you no small amusement. 

Irritated Vicar aside, you weren’t doing this to spite him. Cutting off the workers brave enough to seize the botanical labs would be unconscionable. Right? You groaned, rolled over onto something sharp, and pulled a bypass shunt out of the tangled sheets. In your state, it was a miracle you didn’t pass out on top of it and cause some rare unfixable lower back problem. You wondered fleetingly if Hawthorne ever actually used this bed or just stored spare tools between blankets for the hell of it.

Would Vicar Maximilian Desoto be too proud to join the deserters, if you did darken his church? Would that stern sanctimonious gaze turn, as he put it, to a dead-eyed corporate worker? Somewhere between musing and dreaming, you couldn’t quite picture it. 

In your last conscious moments, you came to the point: would he still want to travel with you if you shut down his entire settlement? Would he turn on you outright? The thought is irritating, a bitter taste, and then you are asleep.

_

Parvati, to her credit, said nothing when you stood at the terminal and made the permanent decision to rob her only home of power. Time permitting, you longed to explain yourself to her, but returning to Edgewater and retrieving the power converter had to come first. For having been on Terra 2 for less than a week, you had made more than your share of enemies. The two of you half sprinted back from the geothermal lab, slowing only to creep by the perimeter of the primal nest outside the abandoned community center. 

Passing through the gates into the town, you exchanged a glance with the girl, and it occurred to you that while you were technically four times her age, you couldn’t help seeing her as an older sister. She’d been conscious more years than you had, anyways. 

“Parvati, wait.” 

“What is it, Captain?” 

You hesitated for the slightest moment, then forged ahead. 

“Before I confront Reed and get the converter, I’m going to warn the Vicar. It might get ugly here pretty fast, he and you both should gather your things and meet me back at the ship.” 

Parvati furrowed her brow. 

“What if they attack? I do have some tools I need to retrieve, but…at least take the Vicar with you. He’s likely keen to get moving now that Edgewater’s history, and I’ve seen him send half those security guards to the sick house for tossball injuries before- I reckon you’d be safe with him.” 

Having the older* girl suggest what you had been afraid to ask gave you all the confidence you needed, so after embracing her quickly and imploring her to be fast and safe, you parted. She turned toward the community housing, and you, toward the mission. 

To your surprise, the Vicar was already at the door, nearly colliding with you as you rushed in. He had what looked like a plasma rifle slung over his shoulder and a rucksack stuffed with books on his back. 

“Captain, I-I can call you Captain now!-I, forgive me. Let me begin again.” He cleared his throat and adjusted the high starched collar of his blue vestments. “When I was a boy-”

“Sorry, Max, we can do this later. I obviously have not transferred power away from the botanical lab like Reed wanted. You should…” you trailed off, starting to take in the sight of him, haloed in the power failure lights, like you’d imagined or maybe dreamed, but the addition of the long gun was jarring. 

“...Captain?”

“Right, sorry. You should go back to the ship if you’re all packed, Parvati is heading there too, I’ll meet you both after I’m through with Reed and have the converter.” Even to your own ears, it sounded like you were fishing for volunteers, and you cringed slightly, but quickly brightened when the Vicar immediately took the bait. 

“And let you face their collective wrath alone? I most assuredly could not let that happen. Mr. Tobson is a reasonable man, after all, and I’m sure I can-”

“Look, backup would be nice, but please, don’t do the talking for me. I don’t want him to think this isn’t personal, because it is. It’s his fault that- void, fuck, we don’t have time for this.”

Spinning on your heel and unholstering your own weapon, you sprinted back in the direction of the cannery, Max close behind you after an initial sputtering of indignant noises.


	2. Chapter 2

Fortunately, the presence of the town’s tossball legend Vicar at your side prevented the need for hostilities, and it didn’t take long to collect the power regulator and meet back with Parvati on the Unreliable. As the ship’s airlock sealed behind you, Max finally relaxed his grip on the still-disorientingly large weapon. Catching your eye, his self assured stance seemed to take a hit, and he shuffled uncomfortably for a moment before rallying. 

“Well. Certainly glad to be aboard a ship called The Unreliable.” 

You rolled your eyes and began a sharp retort, but were interrupted by Parvati’s emergence from the top of the engine room ladder.  
“Captain! I was just starting to worry. Did Vicar Desoto defend you?” 

It was your turn to sputter indignantly. “I talked Reed out of doing anything rash. Didn’t need much defending.” 

Max addressed Parvati directly. “Mr. Tobson’s guards, Ms. Blaine and Ms. Kim, had no desire to engage me in combat. After all, they’ve seen me in action on the field,” he said, removing the rifle from its crossbody strap and stowing it in one of the empty lockers. It was amazing how even his jock-brained self aggrandizement managed to sound pretentious, but if Parvati noticed, she didn’t say so. You left them to their shared reminiscences about the sport you knew only by its reputation for injury and retired upstairs, the close feeling of the humid ship already putting you on edge. Barking at ADA to take you into orbit, you headed upstairs, determined to sleep off your enduring hangover. Kept at bay by various Auntie Cleo creams and lotions during the day, the headache was encroaching again at rapid speed. 

Hours later, still, despite your best efforts, awake, you pulled your sore and unrested body from the steel bunk. Rest was fleeting and uneasy ever since Dr. Welles had revived you; the prospect of returning to unconsciousness was terrifying, and willing your mind into submission was a nightly struggle against your every survival instinct. Somewhere around 4am local Terra 2 time, you conceded the night as lost and went down into the kitchen. Fluorescent lights burning your retina, you stumbled wearily towards the instant coffee. It was ADA who startled you out of your bleary haze. 

“Good morning, Captain. Good morning, Vicar Maximilian Desoto.” 

You caught yourself about to tell Max he looked like death warmed over, realizing immediately you had to look even worse. Foiled in your desire to rankle him even at this law-forsaken hour, you nodded brusquely and set to work stirring the crystalized java beans into the hot water. After a silent moment where the sound of your spoon scraping inside the mug was deafening, you offered-

“ADA, I see you’ve met Max. Max, ADA.” You sipped experimentally at the foul-smelling brew and nearly choked. 

“My pleasure, I’m sure,” Max drawled, gesturing vaguely at the ceiling from whence the robotic voice emanated. ADA apparently didn’t think this warranted a response, and Max shrugged. 

“Dare I ask what ails you, Vicar?” 

“Simply getting an early start,” he said with dignity. At the sight of your eye roll, he amended reluctantly, “Apologies, Captain. My specialty is confessional listening. I have but rarely been the one confessing.” 

“You didn’t get a lot of social contact in Edgewater, did you?” You flinched as you accidentally slammed a cabinet shut, your head still very sore.

“It is expected for men of the cloth to keep to themselves.” He was watching you closely, and it occurred to you that he was looking for a sign of dishonesty, an ulterior motive, anything. Sitting down across from him, you took a luxurious sip of the steaming beverage and nearly choked on the acrid flavor. Eyes streaming, desperately trying not to gag, you heard Max chuckle. 

“I never could abide that stuff myself.” He appeared to hesitate for a moment, then proffered a flask that appeared from inside his OSI vestments. You took it gratefully, swallowing several gulps. The clear liquor inside actually burned less than the jet fuel still steaming innocently in your mug, and it certainly took the edge off your headache. 

“Hair of the Canid that bit you, Captain?” You smiled ruefully, taking a final sip before passing it back. 

“My hangover is perpetual at this point. Just getting a head start on my next headache.” 

The Vicar actually looked concerned, and suddenly you felt glib and foolish. “I’m just trying to get through each day,” you added lamely. He continued to watch you silently, and you decided to play along. “Very well.” You crossed yourself without thinking and recited, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been 25,560 days since my last confession.” It was his turn to choke on his drink, but you pressed on undeterred while he appeared to do some rapid mental calculations. “I have aided a fugitive in criminal activity. I have illegally acquired a power converter from a Spacer’s Choice colony and assisted a camp of deserters. And I have imbibed questionable libations with a holy man.” You punctuated the last sentence by plucking the flask out of his limp fingers and taking another healthy swig. Max composed himself.

“By aiding a fugitive, do you refer to Ms. McDevitt and her botanical labs?” His voice had acquired an authoritative air as he slipped into routine. You considered for a moment if answering truthfully was wise, but there was no sense backing out now. 

“No. I refer to Dr. Phineas Welles, noted astrophysicist...and wanted terrorist.” You watched him now, ready for any reaction. His expression remained neutral, and he nodded encouragingly for you to continue. “I was a colonist on the Hope. It wasn’t lost. The Board knew our skip drive went out and decided not to spend the bits getting it fixed. And I want to know why.” 

“And so you spent...seventy odd years...in cryosleep?” He asked carefully. You nodded, then smirked. 

“Sorry to disappoint you. Turns out we already had a ‘grownup’ in the group.” It was surprisingly easy to talk to him. Parvati had been so horrified, so concerned as you related the tale to her; Max, on the other hand, apparently really did excel in confessional listening. “Thank you,” you said suddenly. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “For this,” you said hurriedly. “For being normal about this. I thought Parvati was going to faint when I told her.” Max nodded solemnly. 

“Ms. Holcomb has experienced very little of the world. But, if you believe the talk, she has always had a soft heart.” He took the flask again, draining it, and you wondered in passing if he’d been drunk the whole time you had known him. While your words had started to slur, his diction remained crisp. 

“You know, I didn’t think you’d still want to travel with me. After I helped Adelaide.” 

“My pursuit of Verity has led me down many paths. You noticed how I struggled to guide my flock in Edgewater. I was straying from The Plan...but now the Architect has sent you to me. A Captain, a ship, safe passage to Monarch. I believe you were sent here to help me.” His voice had grown quiet, and you sensed that this speech had rather less pomposity than his usual diatribes did. “I am willing to suspend disbelief and follow you towards enlightenment.” Pushing his salt and pepper hair back from his tired face, he sighed. “This is your confession, Captain. Not mine.” 

“Then I *confess* to wanting the rest of this story,” you slurred. Your transparency, while initially opening him to discussion, had taken a turn with the Vicar. He seemed to be returning to his former state of reticence, and you protested blearily as he stood and pulled back your chair. “Tell me the storyyyyy. I just told you I spent seventy years on ice and you’re giving me nothing!” 

His hands on your shoulders had a startling effect on you, and you quieted almost immediately as he helped you to your feet. 

“You should rest, Captain. I will inform Ms. Holcomb that you are not to be disturbed. The liquor should cure your insomnia.” His hands, broad and warm, pressed into your lower back as he guided you back to your cabin. Any further protest died on your lips as his arm slipped around your waist to support you; you were much more drunk than you had expected. The single flight of stairs back to your bunk suddenly seemed impossibly far. 

“Just- just drop me in a bunk,” you slurred. “I don’t like the Captain’s quarters much anyway.” He turned obediently from the stairs back to the hallway out of the kitchen, turning into the first open room and guiding you gently to the untouched bunk. Free of bypass shunts at least. You didn’t register his hands leaving your waist; you were asleep before you hit the pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Captain is kind of a top and Max really, really likes it. Spot the Jane Austen plagiarism for bonus points!
> 
> Also I forgot to check the Lost Hope in game for reference before I finished this and by that time it was too late bc I sort of committed to having them in a booth. So yes I am aware booths in the Lost Hope are non-canonical lmfao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The priest sat in the airport bar  
> He was wearing his father's tie  
> And his eyes looked into my eyes so far  
> Whenever the words ran dry  
> Behind the lash and the circles blue  
> He looked as only a priest can, through  
> And his eyes said me and his eyes said you  
> And my eyes said let us try  
> He said, "You wouldn't like it here"  
> No, it's no place you should share  
> The roof is ripped with hurricanes  
> And the room is always bare  
> I need the wind and I seek the cold  
> He reached past the wine for my hand to hold  
> And he saw me young and he saw me old  
> And he saw me sitting there  
> Then he took his contradictions out  
> And he splashed them on my brow  
> So which words was I then to doubt  
> When choosing what to vow  
> Should I choose them all, should I make them mine  
> The sermons the hymns and the valentines  
> And he asked for truth and he asked for time  
> And he asked for only now
> 
> Joni Mitchell, _The Priest_

Frequent trips to and from the Groundbreaker had brought a consistent stream of supplies, ammunition, and meltdowns when Parvati lost her head over something Junlei said. Having both the time and the inclination to indulge her, you felt particularly magnanimous to her romantic whims. You spent many hours with her, holed up in the Captain’s quarters (that you grew to appreciate as Felix and Nyoka joined your crew), drafting messages and discussing potential hidden meanings. When you weren’t dodging rapt acid or breaking into abandoned high security labs, you enjoyed hearing her earnestly gush about how to impress the Groundbreaker’s captain. You’d had an eye for Junlei yourself when first you docked there, but it was quickly clear Ms. Tennyson had eyes for Parvati alone. In retrospect, you were glad--sure, you’d been blindingly jealous at first, but it was ultimately apparent in your conversations with Parvati that your approach to relationships was experiencing some...jetlag. Parvati was delighted to hear that outside the colonies, many people had come to the same realizations she had about indifference to physical affection, and to that end you provided much needed assurance that she was, in fact, completely normal. Understanding how the colonists formed relationships inside the crucible of Board-sanctioned slave labor was somewhat beyond you, and you found you were listening more than talking in many discussions. 

At length, she begged you to take her out for a drink to discuss the latest development--a vaguely sensual bad poem, written for her by Junlei. True to your word, the next time the Unreliable made berth on the Groundbreaker, you sought Parvati in her quarters, but found her instead in the kitchen, anxiously chatting with the Vicar in a way you were sure she’d never done back in Edgewater. In the weeks following the night you had spent with him, drinking and confessing, you’d spent very little time with the man. Between an endlessly expanding to-do list and Parvati’s love life, you’d spoken to him only when his sanctimonious speechmaking particularly irked you, and your rapport had suffered accordingly. 

“Parvati? I believe I owe you a drink.” She and Max both looked up from their discussion; her expression brightened-his grew carefully blank. 

“Oh, that’s a relief, Cap-I was just asking Vicar Desoto for advice. See, Junlei sent me a-well, I’m no expert, but I think it’s supposed to be a poem? It’s not real good, per say, but-” 

“As an avid reader and collector of rare tomes,” Max interrupted, “I believe I ought to have a look at this specimen of literary self-expression.” 

“But not here, right?” Parvati looked at you pleadingly. “It’s not that I don’t like Felix and Nyoka, they’re swell people, I just… I need advice, and I don’t know anyone better than the two of you to give it to me. Can we find a quiet corner of the Lost Hope?” You shrugged, and the three of you set off the ship in the direction of the bar. 

Once you had settled into a quiet booth and bought everyone a round of purpleberry wine, you and Max both insisted on seeing the poem for yourselves. Parvati unequivocally refused to read it aloud, so she passed the message for both of you to pore over. You thought you must have been reading at the same speed, as you both snorted quietly at the same questionable slant rhyme. Without thinking, you conjectured under your breath, “I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away affection.” 

Max looked affronted. “I have always understood poetry as the nourishment of affection.”

You cast him a withering glance and continued impatiently, “In an established relationship, sure, everything nourishes that which is strong already. But Junlei is starting with this? I’m convinced that in the early stages of any burgeoning romance, one misplaced sonnet can starve it away entirely.” To your contention, the Vicar smiled- laughing, it seemed, at some private joke. 

Parvati interrupted impatiently, “No, it’s sweet, it’s real sweet-” her voice faltered- “It made my chest hurt, kinda.” Feeling suddenly cruel, you backpedaled. 

“Whatever works, right? In your case, Parvati, I think it should soothe your worries that she’s invested enough to stick her neck out like this. I mean, no one sends vaguely sensual bad poetry to someone they don’t like.” 

Parvati, predictably, couldn’t keep her liquor, and once she’d been cheered with a second glass, needed water and bed almost immediately. She left, insisting you and Max stay and enjoy yourselves as she was perfectly capable of making it back to the ship alone. If the Lost Hope hadn’t been so close to the landing bay, you might have insisted on walking her back. As it was, you were hoping your growing flush could be excused by the wine, and you were painfully aware of being alone with the man for the first time in weeks. Deprived of Parvati’s buffer, you took a long, uncomfortable sip from your glass, avoiding his gaze. 

For once, he seemed at ease while you struggled in silence. Being away from the others calmed him, but in private, your confidence faltered. At length, he spoke. 

“You are very certain of your romantic advice, Captain.” It was not a question. You looked up, meeting the bottle-green stare instinctively. Saying nothing, you waited, so he continued. “How then would you advise Ms. Tennyson, to encourage affection?” There was still that note of amusement you’d detected earlier. Cursing yourself for draining your glass too quickly, leaving you nothing to occupy your hands, you tucked your hair behind both ears, extending the movement into a leisurely stretch. Many of the saloon’s patrons were settling their tabs at this hour, preparing to start their next shifts, but there was still enough background noise to make your private table feel comfortably secluded.

“Advising Captain Tennyson would be easy because I know exactly what Parvati wants to hear. Advising Parvati takes some guesswork as I barely know Junlei. Either way, the advice is hardly universal.” 

Max made a placating gesture. “You, then, might feel differently than Ms. Holcomb about receiving a work such as this?” In the dim reddish light of the bar, it was difficult to ascertain his exact expression, but you could have sworn it was approaching a leer. It occurred to you that he had no interest in how Junlei or Parvati for that matter would react to your advice. Blood racing loudly in your ears, you wished again for something to do with your hands. None of your ideological squabbles came readily to your aid this time, and you had run out of banter. It was then with much less impertinence than you had hoped to inject that you rejoined, “Are you asking how best to court me, Vicar?” 

To your immense satisfaction, Max flushed all the way to the roots of his greying hair. He didn’t flinch, however, and his hands reached past both of the empty glasses to yours. Brushing his thumbs over your knuckles, he raised your hand slowly to his lips. Kissing it softly, he murmured, “I have always been taught to keep a respectful distance from my flock.” 

You answered easily. “You are not my shepherd.” 

He looked up, almost rueful, eyes dancing. 

“No,” he agreed. “But out of the fullness of time, you have come to me. Out of the void, now here you sit. You, whose body should have now returned to the universe, have defied the limits of human lifetimes to be here, in this moment.” 

The body he described felt very much as though it were returning to the universe as he spoke, and you swallowed hard before responding. “I, ah… Feel strangely discussing this in front of a dozen odd unknown engineers.” Your head had been clear up to this point; two glasses of that purpleberry stuff was like fruit juice after the liquor you’d been swigging just to sleep on the ship. Feeling the heat of his skin was much more debilitating, and your senses buzzed with decades of latent need. “My Captain,” he breathed, so close to your neck that you shivered. “Who am I to you but a vector of your own grand design?” Rational sense was draining from you faster than you’d emptied your glass, and when you were able to look at him directly, you saw your own need mirrored in his increasingly lecherous gaze. “I am at your disposal.” He’d said it before, in combat, before breaking a lock or attacking a nest of rapts, but never like this, never so low or so husky. He paused, and it wasn’t until that moment that you realized he was waiting for your command, reigning in his own impulse to submit to your direction. Seizing the opportunity, you spoke with more confidence than you thought you were capable of. 

“What’s the matter, Vicar?” Subtly overpowering him, you twisted his wrists and pinned them to the table. “Where is all that self control?” 

His breath faltered, hissing as he drew it sharply. “By your leave, Captain…” You loosened your grasp, laughing quietly. 

Instantly, his hands broke free-one moved to cup your jaw, the other to your waist, pulling you almost onto his lap at the furthest point of the booth’s semicircle. Without further ado, he sought your mouth hungrily. Your own hands grasped the lapels of his deep blue robes as you pulled him roughly into a deeper kiss, losing yourself in his body heat and the taste of wine on his tongue. You made a note to ask what it was Scienticians give praise to. Still trying to maintain relative discretion, you asked him breathlessly (when your lips were free) if you ought to fall to your knees in supplication. His only reply was an inaudible groan, felt rather than heard in the vibration of his throat.

Moments later, Vera, the barkeep, turned the lights all the way up over your table, coughing loudly and yelling she had enough messes to clean up without adding new bodily fluids into the mix. Aside from her, the bar had emptied while you had been otherwise occupied. Pulling away from Max, leaving him looking glassy-eyed and unfocused, you stood briskly, grateful your Holographic Shroud was on. At least she wouldn’t recognize you if you returned without the Shroud; Max moved to follow you, and you turned to tell him sharply, “Your Captain has not summoned you, Vicar. I will be retiring to the ship alone.” 

Stunned, Max watched you leave in silence, unable to formulate a reply before you left him alone with the bitter dregs of the bottle you’d shared.


End file.
